


In the Pink

by sprl1199



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-30
Updated: 2010-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-13 22:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/142457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sprl1199/pseuds/sprl1199
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the Mentalist Ficathon for oroburos69.  Prompt:  <i>AU where Jane is a teenage runaway. Lisbon still the same age. Some kind of interaction between them, Jane's still a manipulative little brat.</i>  Gen.  Rated for allusions to off-screen drug use and implied child abuse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Pink

_**In the Pink**_  
 Mentalist Fic: In the Pink

Written for the Mentalist Ficathon for [](http://oroburos69.livejournal.com/profile)[ **oroburos69**](http://oroburos69.livejournal.com/) .

Prompt: _AU where Jane is a teenage runaway. Lisbon still the same age. Some kind of interaction between them, Jane's still a manipulative little brat._

Author Note: Rated PG for allusions to child abuse (off screen) and drug use.  About 2000 words.

Thanks, as always, to the lovely and talented [](http://finangler.livejournal.com/profile)[ **finangler**](http://finangler.livejournal.com/) for beta!

Disclaimer: Not mine, and not for profit!

***  
   
[In the Pink]

He was standing up against the brick wall of the townhouse bordering the edge of the lot as though hoping to find shelter from the mild drizzle that had been blowing in across the Bay all morning. His hair was coated in a fine mist, causing it to curl into a riotous mop of gold. He rubbed his arms slightly for warmth, not looking up at the police car crawling by.

"Stop the car," Lisbon said.

"Lisbon." Abdelghani groused, coming to a halt. "It's raining. And I need to finish writing up that 488 report."

"This will only take a minute," she said, already getting out of the car.  She closed the door on her partner's grunt of disapproval.

As she walked up to the kid she realized that he was even younger than she had initially thought. Fourteen. Maybe fifteen at the most. The bright yellow shirt with the Ampco Parking logo hung two sizes too large on his skinny frame. She wondered who he thought he was fooling.

"Hey," she called out as she approached, carefully non-threatening in both tone and posture.

The kid looked up from where he had been staring fixedly at the pavement, his face blank for a moment. Then he smiled winningly at her with wide blue eyes.

"Can I help you, officer?" he asked, voice helpful and open.

This one thinks he's a charmer, Lisbon thought. She smiled back.

"You can, actually. Mind showing me what you have there?" She pointed to the cash apron clumsily hidden underneath a ragged backpack at the boy's feet.

He didn't move. Instead he leaned back against the wall behind him in a pose of studied relaxation, looking blissfully unconcerned.

"It's empty," he said innocently. "Not worth the time of a valuable law enforcement official such as yourself."

He lowered his voice and leaned toward her confidentially, eyes bright with mischief.

"Between you and me, I think there's something shady about to happen just down the block. Drugs. You should go check it out."

"Oh really?" Lisbon said dryly. "I think I'm good here. You want to tell me about all these vehicles?"

The kid looked at the orderly rows of high-end cars, all glinting in the rain. Each sported a brightly colored square of paper under the windshield wipers.

"Their owners are obviously advocates of conspicuous consumption?" the kid guessed. Lisbon felt her lips twitch. She was amused, but tried not to show it.

"Good guess. But from where I'm standing, it looks like a whole lot of drivers paid cash to park in this lot today. They even got the parking permits to prove it."

"And is that a problem?" the kid asked. "I'd have thought that cops would prefer it when people follow the rules."

"We do," Lisbon agreed easily. "Problem is, this is a free lot. It's not managed by Ampco or any other parking company."

The kid didn't move for a second, blinking around the lot in feigned confusion before he looked back at Lisbon. "Do you mean to tell me I went to the wrong lot this morning? And here it is my first day!" he wailed in theatrical dismay.

Lisbon rolled her eyes. "Come on, kid. Let's take a drive."

***

Abdelghani gave her a long stare when she opened the back and motioned the kid inside. She met his gaze and narrowed her eyes, daring him to say anything. He sighed in resignation and turned back to the road.

"Where to?" he asked glumly as Lisbon slid back into the passenger's seat.

"I'm very fond of pancakes," the kid chirped brightly. "Or maybe we could go for crepes. I hear there's a great cafe on Leavenworth."

He was smirking confidently as he sprawled in the backseat, as much at ease as if he had been getting a ride home in his mom's suburban. Lisbon felt Abdelghani tense in irritation beside her, and she put her hand on his shoulder to stop him from lighting into the kid.

The boy had pulled one leg over his knee when he slid into the squad car, and his foot was bouncing in agitation.  He wasn't wearing socks, and Lisbon could see an angry bruise between the ragged cuff of his jeans and his worn tennis shoe. Seeing her attention, he stilled his foot, shooting her a somewhat challenging look.

She quirked a smile as she turned to face the front again.

"IHOP it is," she said.

"You can do your report just as easily there as the station," she said quietly to her partner before he could protest.

He grunted. "You're buying me coffee," he said, starting the vehicle.

The kid didn't say anything, but his eyes in the rear view were slightly wide in unfeigned surprise. He dropped his gaze when she met his stare in the mirror, looking down to where his fingers were picking at a hole in the knee of his jeans. He frowned slightly and gnawed his bottom lip in contemplation.

Her youngest brother used to wear the same expression when he would sit bent over his homework at the kitchen table, bruises vivid on his arms as he rolled up his sleeves in air warmed from his big sister's attempts at cooking.

Lisbon looked away from the mirror as something inside of her clenched for a moment.

***

Seated on the cheap, blue vinyl bench surrounded by the smell of coffee and cooking, the kid seemed to get his bravado back. Not that he had ever really lost it, Lisbon reflected ruefully.

"New York cheesecake pancakes," he recited with obvious glee.  "Well that sounds like a breakfast worth being nabbed by the law."

"You haven't been 'nabbed by the law,'" Lisbon said, using her coffee cup to hide a grin.  "Not yet, anyway.  Think of this more as 'politely detained by the law for some friendly chitchat.'

The kid shot her a blatantly skeptical look, complete with a raised eyebrow, but otherwise ignored her comment.

"Why do they call it _New York_ cheesecake, anyway? Is there actually any other kind?" he asked, continuing to thumb through the menu with the relish of a small child. Sitting at a neighboring table and working on his report, Abdelghani looked pained.

"What's your name?" she asked instead of answering.

"What do you want it to be?" The look was more smoldering than she would have expected from a teenager. She raised her eyebrow in response.

"Michael," he answered after a moment, no trace of guile on his face.

She decided to go with it. "Michael, where are you parents?"

This, at least, got a reaction, though not a positive one. His face shuttered, and he simultaneously closed the menu, setting it down on the table and looking out the drizzle-smeared window.

"On second thought, maybe I'll just have oatmeal.  That's supposed to be wholesome," he said. She waited patiently.

After a minute he looked at her again. His eyes looked more worn than she felt any adolescent's should.

"Look, don't worry about it, all right? I have a dad. We don't get along, but he's around. It's fine. I can take care of myself."

Lisbon kept her gaze steady, trying to impress her sincerity upon him.

"I'm sure you can, but it never hurts to have friends. Everyone needs help sometimes."

She leaned back again in the booth, deliberately relaxing the tension of the moment, and she was amused to note that 'Michael' mirrored her movements. His face was still slightly wary, however, and she knew better than to question further about his family life.

“Where are you from?” she asked, curiously.

He brightened, mega-watt grin back on his face. “Everywhere!,” he said. “I mean, I’ve lived just about everywhere.”

Lisbon had doubts that an adolescent’s view of the world would be big enough to reasonably encompass “everywhere,” but she didn’t argue.

“Anywhere in particular you lived in longer than elsewhere?”

Again he bit his bottom lip as he considered his answer. “Kansas, I suppose,” he said. “We lived outside of Kansas City for awhile.”

“Is that where you learned the parking lot trick?” Lisbon asked, keeping her voice light.

It didn’t help. Michael’s eyes lost some of their glow, and his smile frayed around the edges. When he answered, his voice was still low and easy, but it was clear that she had struck a nerve.

“No,” he said. “I learned that one later. But it’s always been something I’m good at--cons. I guess you can say I’ve never been a very upstanding citizen.”

Lisbon smiled gently. “You don’t seem like a bad kid to me.”

He smirked. “Well, you don’t know me all that well yet. Trust me, after a bit more time in my presence, you’ll be wishing you had taken me to juvie like your partner wanted you to.”

“Actually, as long as we’re on that topic, you know you can’t keep that money you scammed this morning, right?” She extended her hand across the table, palm open. “Hand it over.”

Michael huffed slightly, but he reached into his backpack and pulled out a roll of small bills. It was bigger than she had figured it would be, and she was impressed despite herself. The kid definitely had grifting skills.

He slapped it into her palm. “I thought you were buying me breakfast,” he said.

Lisbon grinned. “We’re going Dutch. I’m a modern woman.”

She slid the money into her uniform’s front pocket. It was the same location she kept her business cards, and she made a split-second decision.

She pulled out one of the cards and slid it across the table. "Hey, if you ever need some help, you can call me,” she said, voice mild.

The kid picked up the card without looking at it and slid it into his backpack. "Thanks," he said, smiling carelessly as he turned to the waiter who was at last approaching their table.

Lisbon didn't look away. "Michael," she said again, emphatically, waiting for him to look at her again. "You can call me."

His expression crumbled, and for a moment he looked young and confused, as though he couldn’t decide how to respond. The smile he gave her next was small and slightly embarrassed, but also--for the first time since she had seen him leaning against a rain dampened wall--honest. "Okay," he said quietly.

She smiled at him before turning to the waiter. "Alright," she said with purpose. "Let's see about these cheesecake pancakes."

***

The cops dropped him back at the parking lot, after he had insisted he had friends in the area who would be able to give him a ride home. He stood on the sidewalk and watched them drive away, the lady officer waving once out the window. He waved back, bright smile automatically affixing itself to his face.

He stood there for a minute once they were out of sight before turning and walking down the block to the alley where Skeets was supposed to meet him.

He was squatting with his back against the alley wall, partially hidden behind a dumpster. He motioned for Patrick to join him, but the young con didn't move from his position at the entrance. Instead he stuck his hands in his pockets and lifted his chin confidently.

"Did it work?" he asked as Skeets stood and came toward him. The older teen grinned broadly, teeth crooked and brown from years of methamphetamine use.

"Like a charm, bro!" he said excitedly. "The deal went down without a hitch, while the cops were busy with your skinny ass."

Patrick nodded. "You have my money?" he asked.

Skeets gave him a knowing smile as he pulled a crumpled hundred dollar bill out of his pocket. "It's all business with you, man. You should learn to relax and enjoy the moment."

Patrick took the money, inwardly grimacing at how dirty it was. "I can relax when I'm dead," he said bluntly. "I have things to accomplish first."

Skeets shrugged and walked back into the alley. "Whatever, bro. I'll call you next time we have a deal."

Patrick turned toward Fisherman's Wharf and started walking. There were always marks to be found amongst the tourists, and the pancakes wouldn't hold off his hunger for too long: one of the hazards of being fifteen.

As he slipped the money into his backpack, he caught sight of the card the cop had given him.  Pulling it out, he ran his finger across the raised type pensively.

He wouldn't call her, he decided. He'd had a wealth of experience with people of all different backgrounds, classes, creeds, and professions, and the one thing they all had in common was that they were in the business of looking out for themselves.  No one genuinely wanted to help someone like him.

He palmed the card with the intention of tossing it into the trashcan on the corner when he found himself curiously unable to release it. The breakfast was still warm inside his stomach, giving him an unaccustomed feeling of security and comfort.

Continuing down the street again, he slid the card back into the backpack along with his small stash of savings.

He wouldn't call her, but he wouldn't throw it away either. It always paid to keep an ace in the hole.


End file.
